


These Angels See the Light

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Series: Angels Among Us [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Harley Keener & Peter Parker Friendship, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley's dad is an abusive toilet roll of a human, Humor, Hurt Harley Keener, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: "I’m still coming with ya upstate to mow your damn lawn," says Harley.“Sorry,” another voice interrupts with an audible grimace. “Afraid I can’t allow that. You’d be putting me outta my job.”Tony is blindsided by an inelegant snort at Peter’s arrival, which is heralded by the heavenly rustle of plastic bags and the snap of paper napkins.Harley stiffens for a second and then bolts upright so fast it should be hilarious.“Shite,” he says. “Meetin’ me for the first time and I’m not in my usual Mr. Universe glory.”Peter plops a Subway footlong into Harley’s lap, then takes a moment to feign assessing the other boy’s raggedness. “Hm. Guess you’re right, you could use some fresh cucumbers on those extra big bags.”“Excuse me, I waspunched.”--Tony's family vacation with Pepper, Peter and May gets sidetracked when Harley calls him asking to bail his mom out of jail. As the details of the whole fiasco come to light, everyone can't help adopting the darn Keener kid into Tony's sad nerd orphanage. Peter most of all.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Angels Among Us [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1122099
Comments: 44
Kudos: 272





	These Angels See the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floweryfran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/gifts).



> So I was just bingeing floweryfran's A Motley Crew series and fell in love all over again with the Tony-Harley-Peter disaster trio. Hence you get this instead of any of the forty-seven thousand other projects I mentioned to y'all and was supposed to be working on. Still, I'm proud of this baby and if you like it well enough then you should definitely check out floweryfran, ciaconnaa and tempestaurora who write the most jaw-droppingly amazing Tony-Harley-Peter content!
> 
> Some trigger warnings for referenced child abuse in the past, but there's literally no descriptions of it. Skip's name is also mentioned in passing in the very last scene.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, my lovelies!!
> 
> Theme song and title inspiration: "Angels" by Khalid (gotta keep up with the accidental angel motif now)

Tony had never planned for Harley and Peter’s first meeting to be at a precinct.

He hadn’t planned on a whole bunch of other things, either, some turning out more explosive than others, but it is what it is.

So when FRIDAY chirps in his ear that he’s got an incoming call from such-and-such coordinates in the infamous fields of gold, he waves a hand backward to get May and Peter to shush in their terrifying rendition of “You’re the Voice” (he fails) (spectacularly) and croons, “Patch ’im through, baby girl.”

Tony throws another “Silence in the peanut gallery, folks, you’re about to get a blast from the past from Tennessee” over his shoulder, at which point Peter perks up and May’s belted chorus trails off in a warble. Pepper shakes her head at them with a reluctant grin from her spot in the passenger seat.

“Hey, Flannels,” says Tony. “What’s shaking?”

There’s a stutter of static over the line that doesn’t concern Tony at first, until it stretches for longer than the normal amount of seconds that would be acceptable for teenage awkwardness.

“Harley?” Tony tries again. This time his three passengers are much quieter in the background. “Hey, can you hear me? If you rewired my StarkPhone and it’s causing all kinds of bugs, I do _not_ want to hear about until at least Thanksgiving.”

The silence is suddenly broken by a crackle like heavy breathing. Pep and Tony share a loaded look before Tony instinctively eases up on the gas pedal to focus better. And then Peter hears a voice over the speakers--a bit deeper than he would’ve clocked Harley for, actually--and he, too, feels his heartbeat thrum on alert.

“Mr. Tony, uh…”

Tony just barely stops himself from quipping something along the lines of _Oh no, what did you do_. He’s far more attuned to the sound of people’s emotions than most would credit him for, and something tells him that now is not the moment for ill-timed, if not well-meaning, humor.

Instead, he lowers his voice. “Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on?”

“You, uh--you know how I lost that bet to you last year and--I said I’d come up to New York and mow the entire lawn of the Compound for free?”

“Yeahhh…” Tony chews his lip. “Now you got me worried. You never mention losing of any kind, not even under pain of evisceration, unless you’ve got it real bad. Spill it.”

Stress seems to make Harley’s twang heavy-handed on the next couple of words that tumble out of him. “Well I might be kinda maybe needing a small loan right now. Please. And thank you. Sir.”

“FRI, get me hay-boy’s location, stat. Harley, are you hurt?”

Harley breathes out a laugh that’s just a bit too forced and a bit too measured, like he’s keeping the air inside him from rushing out to fast or it’ll strain his ribs. Neither Tony nor Peter are strangers to the sensation.

“Why d’you always assume I’m hurt?”

“Not _always_ ,” Tony corrects him. His tone is no-nonsense now. “This is, in fact, the first time I accused you of such a thing. Since it’s the first time you’ve asked me for dough without me actually forcing your hand. You don’t seem to be on a timer, so I’ll make a safe guess that you’re not kidnapped. But. Somebody’s been hurt, and it just might be you.”

“Dang it,” Harley mutters. A wheeze.

“Stay where you are,” Tony commands him. “Looks like we’re taking a scenic detour to railroad country, folks.”

“Literally please do not do that,” Harley says sharply. But even Peter doesn’t have to have known the other boy for longer than two seconds to hear the undercurrent of desperation and _please come get me I literally couldn’t think of anyone else to call and I need you right now_.

“Tell me what’s happening,” Tony says again.

“It’s--it’s kinda bad.” Harley tries a chuckle, and it sounds wrong. “Sorry, Tony. I didn’t wanna have to drag you into this, but I didn’t--”

“Doesn’t matter if I was first or last choice, kiddo, I’d help you any time because I want to.”

“Um. Yeah. Okay.” Harley sounds like he doesn’t believe him for a second. “It’s Ma that needs help. I’m here downtown at the precinct and...yeah.”

Tony’s mind flies like a bullet train through the worst possible scenarios. “Christ,” he swears under his breath. And then, a little louder: “Bail?”

“Yeah. Bail.”

“How much? Name it.”

Harley sounds like he just might be choking. “...Fifty grand.”

“Fuck,” Peter mouths to May. She returns his somber look with a fierce one of her own. He catches sight of the muscle twitching in her jaw.

Tony exhales. “Oh. Oh, okay. Hey, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t mention this earlier, but you were on speaker and...you got a slight audience here. I’ll take you off now, but I thought you ought to know.” He winces. “Sorry, bud.”

“Oh, is it Ms. Pepper?”

“The one and only,” says Pepper gently. “And two others from Tony’s trusted circle, hon.”

“Hi,” May and Peter chorus from the back seat. 

“It’s me, Peter,” the boy pipes up. “And my Aunt May. Nice to actually hear your voice for the first time. Uh, sorry it isn’t...under better circumstances?”

They’re met with another tiny silence, which feels suspiciously like Harley is picking up his emotions where they’ve been blown away and scattered across the ground. His voice comes back a little strangled. “Hi, Peter. Hi, Mrs. Parker.”

“Hey, Harls,” Tony breaks in softly. “We can talk about this later if you want, if it might help. But you can’t change my mind, I’ve already hopped on I-71 and there’s no turnbacks. We’ve got your location. Just stay put. You eaten yet? Where’s your sister?”

“At camp,” says Harley, very obviously not answering the first question.

“ _Harley_.” Tony’s voice hardens just a tad. “Get a sandwich. I mean it.”

“Tony, I can’t leave her.”

“Yes, you--okay. Okay. That’s fine. Vending machine?”

A scuffling noise. “Yeah. There’s, like, Snickers bars.”

Tony resists the ever-present urge to roll his eyes. “Okay. Snickers will do until I get there. Sit tight. If anyone offers you coffee, don’t refuse it. They’ve got plenty to spare.”

Pepper gives him a very particular look, almost as if to say, _Yes, you would know about that, wouldn’t you?_ Which--fair enough, considering Tony’s track record in the ’80s and ’90s with charges of assault and disturbing the peace.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll be there before you know it. And--Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you didn’t tell me yet what’s going on, but I’ve got an inkling of what it could be. But--regardless--yes you hate to hear this but let me finish--I’m sorry this is happening to you. And I’ll be there soon. Real, real soon. I _promise_.”

Another blip of quiet.

“Yeah. Okay, Tony.” As if Harley’s vocabulary has been wiped and he’s incapable of uttering anything else. More likely than not, it’s true. Still, the weight of things unsaid does not go unnoticed by the other three occupants of the car, who all turn to Tony with matching glimmers of confusion and tenderness in their eyes. It would almost be comical under any other circumstances, the way they move and breathe in sync.

Tony shifts in his seat, flexes his grip on the steering wheel. He visibly avoids eye contact with Pepper, May and Peter and jams some levity into his voice. “Welp, looks like we’re making a pit stop more exciting than Chicago, don’tcha think?”

\--

The instant he lays eyes on Harley huddled on the filthy blue plastic seat inside the bullpen, the first instinct that seizes Tony is not to hug him, or ruffle his hair, or even pat his shoulder. Instead, it is--ludicrously--to offer the kid his varsity jacket.

They both skip the pleasantries. Harley stares at the crumpled mass of fabric in Tony’s hand, uncomprehending. “It’s June.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose with a hand that is almost imperceptibly shaking. “I know. The longer I stand here holding it, the longer I’ll feel like an idiot and I already know that on a daily basis, so just take it.”

Harley obliges and actually goes the extra step of shoving his arms into the sleeves with jerky, wooden movements. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “Like, really, thanks. I didn’t--well.”

Tony reaches out to lift the kid’s chin with a finger. When the light glances off the shiner ringing Harley’s eye, something in Tony tightens into a coil.

“Harley,” he breathes. “What the fuck.”

Harley shrugs. “He came back.”

“Don’t tell me it’s--” Tony grinds his teeth. “Don’t tell me, Harley.”

The kid looks up at him flatly, his chin still caught in Tony’s grip. 

“Fuck,” says Tony again. He release his hold on Harley’s face. “Fuck. _Fuck_. Where is that dickbag now?”

“Dunno,” Harley replies, and there’s a murderous fire in his eyes to match Tony’s. “He booked it after I decked him. I would’ve run after him, but the cops came barging in just then.”

“And _where_ was this?”

“At the Jiffy Stop.”

“Witnesses?”

“Just the owner. He grew up best buddies with my sperm donor, but there’s probably--definitely--cam footage.”

Tony grunts in acknowledgment. “And--your mom was there?”

“My mom--” Harley’s face, his entire person, flares. He glances to the side. “I walked in in the middle of him shakin’ her like a rag doll. I didn’t think. I just. Shoved and kicked and punched and--”

Tony lets the silence hang between them for a few seconds to allow the air to leave Harley with a whoosh. And then he moves his hand down to Harley’s shoulder and squeezes it. “It’s okay. ’Sokay.”

The ghost of a shudder passes through Harley then, one that would steal the mask of hardness on his face, and he turns away again just so the man won’t have to see. He looks paper thin, stretched wide, like a brook run dry but unwilling to voice defeat. He tilts forward almost as if he doesn’t want to but cannot help it. His head meets Tony’s shirt, and then all of a sudden his face is buried in the man’s stomach and his fists are raised to grip the air.

Tony doesn’t blink. He takes Harley’s fists from where they are suspended at his sides and unfurls the fingers, lays them flat in his own. 

“We’re getting her out, I promise. It’s not even a question. It’s done. I can’t say I blame her for taking the fall for ya, but it’s fucking ridiculous that your mother’s the one who got handcuffed and not him. She’s getting out and you both will be going home to a nice hot meal and some rest, and I will personally make sure you never have to see that toilet roll of a human ever again. I _swear_.”

“Wanna bet?” Harley’s voice is congested against the cotton of Tony’s shirt. “I never lose.”

“Harley,” Tony reprimands him in the fondest tone ever. “This time around, I want you to lose. Resoundingly. You won’t even so much as catch a whiff of his grimy ass within a thousand-mile radius when I’m through.”

Harley sniffles. He seems to consider that for a moment. He raises his head, infinitesimally, and bops his nose against Tony’s stomach.

“I’m still coming with ya upstate to mow your damn lawn.”

“Sorry,” another voice interrupts with an audible grimace. “Afraid I can’t allow that. You’d be putting me outta my job.”

Tony is blindsided by an inelegant snort at Peter’s arrival, which is heralded by the heavenly rustle of plastic bags and the snap of paper napkins.

Harley stiffens for a second and then bolts upright so fast it should be hilarious.

“Shit,” he says. “Meetin’ me for the first time and I’m not in my usual Mr. Universe glory.”

Peter plops a Subway footlong into Harley’s lap, then takes a moment to feign assessing the other boy’s raggedness. “Hm. Guess you’re right, you could use some fresh cucumbers on those extra big bags.”

“Excuse me, I was _punched_.”

“And let’s not even get started on the hair--”

Tony devolves into another quick succession of snorts. Collapsing against the nearest empty desk, he fishes around in Peter’s plastic bag for a sandwich of his own and lets Peter shoulder the weight of this part of the conversation as he texts Pepper for updates on the bail situation. He doesn’t know what else he expected from Menace #1 meeting Menace #2 under such spicy circumstances, but now he realizes he shouldn’t ever have doubted that Peter and Harley would hit it off swimmingly.

A couple minutes later, Tony tunes back into the conversation to catch the tail end of what must be a goddamn competition of childhood scars.

“There’s this one on the bottom of my foot from where I slid all the way down the stairs after Ned said--”

Tony rouses himself with an emphatic, “Nope, _no_ , no strip teases in the police station, Parker,” in the middle of Peter toeing off his Converse for his dramatic show-and-tell. “C’mon, Harley, Mama Keener’s out and probably raring for a good hot bath. Chop, chop, let’s jet.”

\--

Mama Keener, or Rose, as she prefers to be called, is a bright light of nervous, haggard, hopeful energy that immediately endears her to May and Pepper. No sooner does Rose come shuffling out the door than May takes a step forward and envelopes her in a loose hug, all citrus fragrance and mumbled assurances and wire-framed glasses tangling in Rose’s hair. Pepper, for her part, sways closer to lay a firm hand against the small of Rose’s back.

The resemblance between Rose and Harley is undeniable. Her unruly gold locks are a bit more sun-kissed than her son’s, but their eyes are an identical shade of marble blue and they do the exact same thing where their bottom lip curls back and disappears when they break into an open-mouthed, toothy smile.

Charlize Keener--“Charlie! Golly jeepers, it’s Charlie, don’t call her that,” according to a now well-fed Harley--looks almost nothing like her mother or brother, if the camera roll in Rose’s phone is anything to go by. May hazards a guess that Charlie inherited the flat curtain of brown hair and the lake-green eyes from her paternal side. Still, all three Keeners seem to share the same lopsided smile and rounded cheekbones.

Rose, like so many people in Tony’s life, seems to be in the habit of needlessly apologizing, and it takes May and Pepper several tries before Rose actual subsides into quiet thanks instead.

“I just wish I coulda gotten in a better lick at him,” she whispers fiercely. She glares into the swirl of coffee in her styrofoam cup as if it could vicariously burn her ex in hellfire by her gaze alone.

“That’s what you got Harley for,” May says with her hand-on-the-hip, take-no-argument pragmatism. “If he gave as good as he got, then that man must’ve been screaming for the hills.”

Rose nods vehemently. “Of course he gave as good as he got. I might not have been the one to teach him that”--her eyes fall a little flat as if she’s biting back a misdirected chastisement at herself for putting up with her ex for years--“but Lord knows he needs no helpin’ in that department.”

“No wonder he and Tony got along like a dump truck fire,” is Pepper’s dry observation.

A twist of mirth and shame flits across Rose’s face. She digs into the pocket of her chambray shirt for her half-smashed pack of cigarettes, then shoves it back inside as if thinking better of it.

May’s gaze follows the movement of Rose’s hands. She jerks her head toward the door. “C’mon, we need some fresh air. We’ll text the boys where to find us when they’re done with their reluctant heart-to-hearting.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Don’t count on a quick one. Harley’s a darlin’, but with me he’s about as emotionally vulnerable as a cinder block.”

\--

Harley is, in fact, about as emotionally vulnerable as a sponge. The store-brand kind that you buy wrapped in crinkly cheap plastic that soaks up water like it needs it to breathe and just about collapses and disintegrates from the pressure of wiping two whole dishes.

They’re all piled in the biggest suite available at the local Days Inn--Tony had visibly scrunched his nose at the three-star rating, which in turn made Peter laugh right in his face and dare him to _make a Marriott appear in the cornrows with all his money, c’mon, do it, Mr. Stark_. But one look at Harley’s distant gaze and Rose’s well-disguised trembling had made up Tony’s mind that going back home where so many memories of misery lurked simply would not fly for today.

No. Not at all. Today, they would put up with the Days Inn because the two Keeners in question look about ready to keel over on the itchy crocheted duvets like it’s the Manhattan Hilton, and then tomorrow he’s dragging them to better accommodations in Nashville where they all can at least attempt to have some semi-decent distractions. Pepper, avenging angel that she is, already hurled some legal spitfire at the sleepy-eyed police officers back at the precinct to ensure that the charges don’t even reach the desk of the judge and they all go after the real culprit instead.

So who could blame Harley if he’s a little bit weepy around the others? It’s been an overwhelming sort of day.

“You sure he didn’t hurt you anywhere?”

Rose waves off Harley’s whisper with a shaky smile. “Nowhere that could hurt more than that shiner, honey. Hey. Put the ice pack back on.”

Grudgingly, Harley nudges the plastic bag of ice cubes back over his eye with a wince. He slides down the headboard to angle himself more comfortably with one leg hanging over the side of the bed. Rose watches him in silence, then reaches up to run a manicured hand through his hair. It all ends in a snort when her fingers get tangled in the knots.

“It’s a lost cause, Ma, give it up already,” Harley grouches.

“Maybe if you got a haircut, you wouldn’t have--”

“Nope. No.” Harley plops the entire ice bag over his face. Speaks in a muffled grumble from beneath the plastic. “You’re avoiding my questions, Ma.”

“Uh, hate to interrupt, but you should also avoid, like, suffocating.”

Before Harley has the chance to react, the ice pack has been lifted clean off his face. Peter’s visage, pinched comically in prepubescent worry, fills his field of vision.

“Filthy liar. You love interrupting. Betcha just wanted to take another good look at my black eye for, like, Pinterest inspo.”

“We met three hours ago and that’s the most VSCO thing you’ve ever said,” Peter deadpans. He drops the ice cubes back onto Harley’s bad eye and casts an apologetic grimace in Rose’s direction. “Really sorry to interrupt, though, Mrs. Keener.”

“Rose.”

“Mrs. Rose Keener.”

She huffs out a laugh. “ _Rose_.”

With both eyes closed, near dozing, Harley points a finger in Peter’s direction. “That’s another lost cause. Did y’know his boyfriend Ned is even worse? ‘Mr. Tony Stark Iron Man sir’--”

“ _Harley_ ,” Peter hisses. “That is classified information. And he is not my boyfriend.”

Harley lifts the ice pack to serve him a look. Taking her cue from her son, Rose follows suit.

Peter swallows. “Yet. _Yet_. Hey! How did this even become an interrogation of _my_ love life? You’ve never even met the guy!”

“Tony gossips a hell of a lot more about you than he’s probably letting on,” says Harley, looking unreasonably pleased with this fact.

Peter scowls. “Oh, sweet Jesus, please tell me he hasn’t told you about the puppy references too.”

Harley sits up with alarming agility at that and fixes the other boy with a squint. “What. Puppy. References.”

“Aaaand I think it’s about time I had a chat with Mr. Stark,” Rose says, catapulting herself off the bed in a flurry of shoelaces and denim. “Try not to murder each other. I think one stint in jail’s enough for a couple lifetimes.”

“We’re talking about that later, Ma!” Harley hollers after her retreating figure. “Definitely talking about your idea of passable humor…”

“Well, to be fair,” Peter muses as if to mollify Harley but in a tone that screams the exact opposite, “Mr. Stark has told me quite a fair amount of potato references. So. Guess we’re even.”

“You just _wish_ you were as cool as me that you could unironically build a potato gun at eleven years old and get Iron Man to work on it with you, all decked out in sad flannels and coping mechanisms.”

“That’s called trauma.”

“I know, darlin’.” Harley shoots him a lazy and half-pained grin. “PTSD been my BFF since I was five.”

Peter flops face down on the bed next to Harley. He grabs one of the fluffier pillows and burrows his head underneath it. “Ugh, what a mood.”

“Uh-oh.” Harley plonks the ice cubes onto the side table and leans back on an elbow to get a better look at Peter’s head somewhere beneath the polyester. “Don’t tell me you got a tragic backstory too.”

“It’s Mr. Stark, what do you think?” Peter mumbles into the sheets. “He, like, runs the ultimate sad nerd orphanage. I think he definitely wants to expand, but we can’t have that happening.”

Something in Harley twitches--joyfully, painfully--at the nonchalant sound of _we_. He smothers it and goes for an exaggerated drawl instead as he cradles his head Cleopatra-style. “Yeah? Gettin’ crowded in there?”

Peter pops his head out from underneath the pillow to fix the other boy with the most serious and corgi-like look that he’s--okay, wow, Harley totally sees it now. No wonder Peter ranted about the puppy references.

“Nobody could compete with our trauma combined,” Peter stage whispers.

Tony scares the crap out of them just then by popping his head into their side of the suite.

"What's this I hear about trauma, hm? I swear to--you know what. No. Don't make me convert to another religion just so I have a new list of gods' names to take in vain."

Peter flops over onto his back and tosses him a cheeky grin. "We were just discussing the qualifications to get into your adoption agency. Orphan, bullied, knack for science--"

Harley nods. "--Disastrous lab manners--"

Peter nods just as sagely back. "--Fine taste in music and food--"

"--A dash of childhood trauma--"

" _You're_ traumatizing," Tony deadpans, entirely unimpressed. "Where's Mama Keener?"

Harley swallows back a yawn that makes his face go crimson. He waves a hand haphazardly at the door. "She went looking for you."

Tony wordlessly disappears through the en-suite door, approximately three and half seconds before Rose comes strolling back in through the front entrance.

"You just missed him," the boys chorus.

Rose pivots on her heel with an aggravated sigh and marches back out again.

Predictably, lamely, and completely uncomedically, Tony thrusts his head back in.

"Y'know," Harley starts dryly, "one would think y'all are actually avoidin' each other."

Tony strides to the bed and flings himself with a vengeance on top of the boys. Peter makes as if to shove him off, but then hesitates and shrugs as if it's not worth the calories.

"I'm beat and that is entirely your fault," Tony chirps. "Abusing an old man like me."

Peter eases himself upright with the open-mouthed awe of a field mouse that just glimpsed an entire pile of corn kernels. "Harley," he whispers reverently. "Remember this moment. Treasure it. Get it tattooed on your face or butt or--whatever. Oh Lord Almighty, you have rained blessings on us on this--"

A solid whack from Tony on his thigh turns the last bits of Peter's flippant prayer into a yodel.

"You've cracked the algorithm," says Harley. "Be mean enough to him and he'll admit all on his own he's an old geezer."

"Why do I even do anything for you?" Tony laments. "Why am I hanging out here with you gorillas instead of the sophisticated ladies next door?"

"Uh, because you can't understand a word Ma says," Harley points out.

"And May terrifies you," Peter adds.

Harley tacks on brightly, "And Ms. Pepper scares you shitless."

Tony gestures ineffectively with one hand and scratches at his goatee with the other. "See, this is the part where you're supposed to actively prove you're not gorillas."

"Sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter singsongs, and oh, hell no, Tony does _not_ trust the devilish look the two teens share. "Guess it takes one to know one."

\--

Since Rose loudly protests them having any fancy dinner or semblance thereof at Tony's expense ("How expensive can it be? A couple hundred?" "Sweet niblets, Tony, don't give Ma a heart attack. Also, you're an idiot."), the little posse of jailbirds and sidetracked vacationers find themselves sprawled in various shapes on the carpet feasting on oily pizza and playing a lazy version of two truths and a lie. But not, of course, before May rummages around in her duffel bag for a spare blanket (one from her compulsive collection) and lays it down on the floor for them. Because she must preserve a modicum of her hygiene habits as a nurse, after all.

"My turn!" May exclaims. "One, I dated a college girl when I was a junior in high school. Two, I got my first nursing job because my best friend's uncle was the nursing director's brother and I saved his life with a Heimlich maneuver at a cookout in Jersey. And three, when I was little I knocked out three front teeth because me and my cousin Gina were playing with a tire tied to a tree branch and I got all tangled up and she had to cut me down and I fell flat on my face."

Peter actually whines and thumps his head against the carpet. "That's cheating, May. I know exactly what you're doing. Also, I'm sitting this one out 'cause I know you too well."

"I'm gonna say the third one," Rose says confidently. "The first was said too simply to have been a lie."

"Well, you're right about one thing, May's stories do get elaborate." Tony raises a brow at Peter's inert form. "Guess I know now where our little beagle got that from."

Peter has an arm slung over his eyes. He doesn't budge, save to scratch his brow with a middle finger. "One day, Mr. Stark. One day…"

"I know for a fact the third one's true, though," Pepper muses aloud. "That time last year when we brushed our teeth at the same time and I noticed your crowns."

"Still, she could've lost the three teeth for a different reason," Peter interjects.

May looks at him over the rim of her glasses. "Thought you were sitting this one out."

"I said nothing, I'm mute, never spoke a word in my life. Wow, did anyone hear that voice just now?"

Tony lobs a mushroom at his eye.

Pepper and Rose confer for another couple seconds before Pepper straightens and proclaims, "I vote second."

"Shit," says May. "What gave it away, the cookout or Jersey?"

And so the evening goes. Everyone else has a real hoot when they get to Harley, while Peter and Tony are equal parts impressed and terrified.

"One, I fell out of a tree and busted my leg to prove myself somethin' when Mr. Boggings said I was too scared of heights to do anything. Two, I busted my elbow when I got into a fight with this pr--this nasty fellow who was picking on Charlie. And three...uh, I busted my little toe one time when I sat so long in one position that my leg was asleep when I got up but I started running and landed the wrong way on my foot."

Peter clocks him immediately. "First one's the lie!" 

Tony definitely looks like he's choking. "I was about to ask what age you were when you got embroiled in each of these heinous events, but I realized it doesn't matter because nothing has changed."

"Hey!" says Harley. "Shoulda seen the guy. Y'all'd've done the same thing if y'all'd been there yourselves."

There's a split second of sweet, precious silence, before it's shattered by everyone guffawing in various keys and tempos.

Rose ruffles Harley's hair. (If her nails and rings get all twisted up in his tangles again, no one mentions it.) "You're the best prick-buster there is, sweetcheeks. That's why I love you. Thanks for saving my life."

"Uh," says Peter eloquently. "Are we not gonna talk about the 'prick-buster' thing or…?"

"That title belongs to Ms. Pepper and Ms. Pepper only," says Harley.

The woman in question smooths a ginger lock behind her ear. "I'd say don't be modest, but you're absolutely right."

"Light of my life, lamp unto my soul," Tony hums. Pepper bans him from the game then, and no one questions it because she's Pepper Potts.

Forty-five minutes later, they're still at it and Peter is losing by cinematic proportions. Most especially when this moment comes:

"One, I've met the Black Widow. Two, I've met Keanu Reeves. Three, I've met Spider-Man."

Several things happen at once. May rolls her eyes, Tony grimaces, Rose drops a slice of pepperoni in her lap, Pepper sips primly from her ginger ale, and Harley crows: "Three. Oh, God, definitely three."

Peter looks inordinately offended. " _Why. How. Por qué._ "

"Because you are Spider-Man, ya big brain."

The two boys lock eyes. It takes less than two seconds for Peter to sag in defeat.

"Good night. I'm going to bed, everybody. Keeping up a secret identity that is _apparently not a secret at all_ is exhausting."

"I didn't tell on you!" Tony singsongs after the kid's figure as he shuffles over to the furthest bed and collapses face down in it.

"You're the worrrst!" Peter singsongs back.

\--

"You sleepwalk?"

"Huh? Oh. Um. What."

"Harley. You're in my bed."

"Hngh." Harley finally blinks awake to find that he's practically koala'ed up against Peter's side. He finds, in the same breath, that he's completely apathetic to this fact. He decidedly feels no warm and mushy feelings about this at all.

"'Sfine," Peter mumbles. He scrapes his knuckles over his eyelids. "Could use the extra heat, what with the A/C turned on all the way."

Harley tunes back into the world to realize just what Peter's referring to. Indeed, the blinds are rattling as the A/C unit roars beneath it. In the dark, he can just make out the dancing pattern of blue light filtering in through the window behind the shivering blinds slats. Harley blinks his eyes open and closed with a rare slowness and awareness, straining his ears for the _eek-eek-eek-eek_ of the cicadas and the thud of a car door outside.

Peter, in his sleep-addled brain, doesn't seem to register at first that Harley's silence is less out of confusion and more born of pensiveness. 

"Thermoregulation," he explains in a mumble, his vowels all round with fatigue and caught behind his teeth. "Or. Rather. Lack thereof."

Harley's face splits into a grin so wide and sudden in the dark that his cheeks ache. "Surprised ya with the Spider-Man one, didn't I."

"Mm. Not really. If you're smart enough and you look at the right combination of facts, it's real easy to figure out." Peter is definitely more awake now. He proves it, too, by nudging Harley in the ribs with his elbow to give him room to roll over and converse a bit more properly. Apparently, Peter sleeps like a starfish on its belly and Harley curls up on his side. More useless information for the sensory part of his mutated brain to hoard and overanalyze later.

"Right," Harley drawls. "'Cause the same instant Tony name drops you in a WhatsApp chat with me, only one new superhero is mentioned in the news hanging around Iron Man."

"Yeah, right, um, moving on from my embarrassingly flimsy cover story because it gives me anxiety like you wouldn't believe… You, uh, you good?"

Harley goes so awfully quiet and still at that that Peter pops his head up in the air.

"Huh? Harley?"

"Nothin', nothin'." Harley swallows. "You just sounded like Tony just then, that's all."

"Oh." Peter drops his head back down. He offers up a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, he asks me that all the time."

"Same here."

"Well, I'm glad," Peter says. "You need more people asking you that."

He can practically taste Harley's eyeroll in the air. "Sure, Jan."

"I'd meme you back, but I'm, like, thirty-seven percent of the way back to a coma. So. Rain check on that. Seriously, though. You doing okay?"

"Never better."

"Fucking--" The sheets crinkle and dip as Peter rearranges himself in a slouch against the pillows. "You're just like him. I think I'm starting to feel a tiny bit of what Pepper feels every day."

"Why the hell wouldn't I feel better? After all, I got to deck the crappy parental unit in his schnoz and get a grand ole tour of the local slammer with my mom."

Peter takes a moment to let those words sink into Harley after they leave his mouth. And then--

"Oh, crap," comes the wet sound of Harley's voice, low and small.

"Yeah," says Peter.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Peter whispers again.

The bed's shaking. Peter doesn't need his supersenses to surmise that the tremors are coming from the kid next to him. He caught a glimpse of this same trembling earlier in Rose's shoulders, in the turn of her wrists as she compulsively played with her box of cigarettes and rearranged the shoes by the door of the suite over and over.

He remembers that kind of trembling, too, in the hours between Skip and waking, in the beat of a breath between telling Ned and waiting for the shoe to drop. The kind of shaking he never showed at Ben's funeral but haunted him for months in the school hallways and bathrooms and under the bleachers as he pretended he wasn't grieving.

Peter debates touching Harley in comfort. Some part of him may have connected with Harley like opposite poles of the magnetic force, but everything is still just new and fresh and he has no idea if touch will help him more than harm him. 

In the end, Harley makes the decision for him by grabbing into Peter's fingers and squeezing them with an unconscious and guttural desperation even as Peter was in the middle of inching his hand toward the other's shoulder.

"Don't you dare tell anyone I was cryin' or I'll quarter you and roast you with butter and rosemary for Christmas," Harley growls, and squeezes Peter's hand harder.

"Uh, so, probably not the right time to... unpack all the undertones of toxic masculinity in there," Peter warbles back. "Also, I don't think you'd like the taste of spider any more than I'd like to be quartered. So. There's that."

Harley erupts in a nasal little laugh. It's quite possibly the most genuine and relieving thing Peter has heard all night, so he'll take it as a win.

"And just for the record," Peter adds. "You're allowed to cry, you know."

Harley drops Peter's hand in favor of swiping furiously at his own face. "I know, I know. I know. I know. Just not--not in front of her, okay?"

Well, there goes Peter's heart. He supposes he could very well compete with Tony now for most fragile cardiac health among the Avengers.

He says nothing, even though there are a million sensible and relatable things that could roll off his tongue. Like how he felt the same stab of guilt each time May calmed him from a nightmare about Ben but retreated to her own room to weep in gasps muffled behind her fist. A guilt so thick and viscous it left him nauseous for days and he thought he'd never be able to scrub it from his throat. Or like how he and May would fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled together and ice cream bucket forgotten between them, the static screen frozen on the TV when they would wake and stretch and pretend they weren't both staying up late waiting for all their dead loved ones to come strolling through the front door.

Peter chooses to say nothing, because there will be time to say these things in the future. There will be so much time to say them, now that they have met face-to-face and he's seen a little bit inside the deepest parts of Harley on their first day hanging out together. Because sometimes, the silence is the best voice to utter _I know, and I understand, and I've been there, and I can promise you I will be there for you_.

Instead, he picks up Harley's hand again and squeezes back while he counts the quiet sobs rattling in the other boy's chest and he listens, second after second, minute after minute, heartbeat for heartbeat, as Harley's breaths slow and even out.

And on the other side of the wall, Tony holds Pepper in his arms and blinks in the dim blueness around them, willing with all his might that his thought might turn true:

_You good, Flannels? You good? You're good. You will be. I know, squirt. I understand. Been there and I'll be there for you, as long as you need me. And even then some._

**Author's Note:**

> Oofie, what a big oof. This was my first attempt at a sort-of Harley character study? I feel like I started out solidly in Tony's POV bc apparently I'm most comfortable with his voice and I relate a lot to a trauma-ridden boomer with heart failure, but then sort of switched to Peter's POV somewhere down the line. What do you think? Any feedback on that or any other aspect of the story?
> 
> OH! ALSO! Can I please get a huzzah for 80% of this bad boy being typed on my phone over the course of 3 hours?! My arms are sore to helllll
> 
> I love you all! Thanks for reading, muwah! <3 -kaleb
> 
> muh tumblr: theoceanismyinkwell  
> muh insta: kc.barrie


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